SHANE
I hadn’t meantto stay this late.
The pool of light from my desk lamp was the only thing keeping the darkness of the library at bay. Most of the building had emptied out hours ago, and yet here I was, still scribbling notes into my journal like the fate of my degree depended on it. Which, to be fair, it sort of did.
I blinked at the open textbook in front of me, the words blurring into one another until I realized I’d been reading the same sentence for the third time. Something about emotional regulation and pre-performance anxiety. Ironically fitting, considering the slight prickle of nerves crawling down my neck. I had told Patrick I’d meet him at the bar tonight. Just a casual hangout. Nothing big. Except now it was past nine, and my phone, long forgotten on silent mode, blinked with notifications.
I cursed under my breath and ran a hand through my hair.
A shadow fell across the table.
I flinched. My heart did a weird, startled twist before I even looked up. When I did, it was him.
Patrick.
Towering, grinning, and beautiful. He was wearing that black hoodie with the little rip in the collar, the one that drove mecrazy for no good reason. And he had his hands in his pockets like he hadn’t just scared the hell out of me.
“Jesus,” I said, pressing a hand to my chest. “You can’t sneak up on me like that.”
He tilted his head. “You ghosted me. I thought maybe you got hit by a bus.”
“So you came to the library,” I said.
“It could have been one of those book carts, to be fair,” Patrick said.
I groaned and rubbed my eyes. “God, I haven’t even showered or changed my clothes. I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”
Patrick shrugged and pulled out the chair across from mine, sitting like he owned the place. “I figured. You always look kinda cute when you’re in panicked nerd mode.”
I gave him a withering glare that had zero effect. His grin just widened.
“You didn’t have to come all the way here,” I said. My voice was soft, embarrassed. I felt gross, still in the same jeans I’d worn to his afternoon practice, my shirt slightly rumpled, hair sticking up in the back.
“I wanted to see you,” Patrick said simply. His voice was so calm about it, so sure, like that was the most natural thing in the world.
He looked around the quiet floor, eyes flicking from the empty desks to the shadows between shelves. “We don’t have to go to the bar. I’d be happy just sitting here, watching you bite your pen and mutter to yourself.”
I laughed under my breath and stood, stretching. “Tempting, but no. We should go. Give me five minutes. Help me reshelve some of these books?”
“Of course, Professor.”
I rolled my eyes as I gathered the stack of texts on sports aggression, resilience, and emotional fatigue. Patrick scooped upthe rest without effort, following me to the back of the library. The rows were dark but familiar, quiet except for the faint hum of the heating system and the dull thud of our footsteps on the carpet.
We reached the right shelf. I began sliding books into place, fingers brushing worn spines.
Patrick moved beside me, sliding his stack into the middle shelf without much precision. I was about to scold him when he stepped closer. Too close.
The footsteps I’d half registered earlier paused somewhere at the far end of the aisle.
And then he did it.
Patrick’s hand landed against the bookcase beside my head. His body pressed into mine. One smooth, defiant motion. The kiss came fast, hard, and hungry. His mouth crushed against mine with the kind of heat that left no room for thought. My spine hit the shelf behind me. I gasped against his lips.
His hands weren’t roaming, weren’t greedy. Just his mouth, his weight, and the absolute surety in the way he kissed me like he couldn’t wait another second.
And God, I didn’t care, either.
I kissed him back, harder than I meant to. I wrapped a hand behind his neck and pulled him down. I could taste mint and adrenaline. My knees wanted to give in. My pulse pounded behind my eyes.
